


A True Dream of Spring

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix It Fic, Fluff, Happy Ending, angst if you squint, i guess, in which season 8 is completely disregarded, not Sansa Stark friendly, there's only one line that's kind of sketchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: Season 8 fix it fic, in which the Battle for the Dawn is different and so is everything that comes after-secret santa gift for bi-tiger on tumblr
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Kudos: 65





	A True Dream of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Jonerys since Season 8, so apologies if I'm a little rusty. I came out of retirement for the Secret Santa event on tumblr and I wrote this for bi-tiger, who wanted a season 8 fix it fic with a happy ending-and I was more than happy to oblige. This fic begins at the end of 8.03 and disregards most of the Battle for the Dawn and everything after it because honestly they deserved better. Also the first part might not make a whole lot of sense but I couldn't just let the battle end how it ended in canon and I tried to put my own spin on it.   
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone reading!

For just a minute Jon thought he had the upper hand. The Night King stumbled back a step and he pressed his advantage, forcing him back another step, then two-and then he could have sworn the Night King smiled at him as he suddenly shoved him forward, knocking Jon off balance. He slid and hit the ground hard, rolling quickly so he wouldn’t impaled by his own sword. The Night King towered over him, as cold and remote as the night sky above them, and Jon barely had time to consider that this was it, these were the last moments that remained to him--

-but the stroke of death never came. Instead, he looked up just in time to see a blade slice into his opponent’s upper thigh, sending a line of ice crystals drifting into the snow. Dany stood there, her hair disheveled and coming loose from its braids, her eyes filled with fire, and he was filled with a fear like he’d never known before. He opened his mouth to yell, but it all seemed to happen in slow motion. The Night King looked between him and her and Jon felt like he could see into his soul, even though that was impossible, that somehow he understood all that Dany had come to mean to him over the course of the last few months. His arm sliced out, quicker than lightning, easily disarming her. The knife clattered to the ground, winking in the dim light-and then he grabbed her throat, shaking her like a rag doll. Jon’s heart seemed to skip a beat and he lunged forward, focused on nothing but the claw around her neck, the ice appearing in patches on her fair skin, her eyes full of disbelieving terror. And then he plunged his spear through her stomach. 

“No!” Jon reacted on sheer instinct. He didn’t feel his own aches and pains as he lunged forward, burying his sword up to the hilt in the Night King’s chest. The monster seemed to explode before him in a whirlwind of ice and snow, sweeping around them until he felt like he’d been transported to some other world, where there was no such thing as warmth or growing things, where his blood would freeze in his veins and he would die where he stood...but then the snow fell away and he remembered where he was, and that he wasn’t the one who was dying. 

He dropped down next to her, pulling her into his lap and praying to every god he could think of that she was still alive. She was breathing, but only just-her eyes were wide as she looked up at him and her breath came in shallow pants. Her mouth moved as if to speak but no sound came out. “No,” he whispered, undoing her coat so that he could examine the wound more easily. “Stay with me. Please.” He could tell immediately that there was something wrong-the patches of ice that had already formed on her neck were spreading, covering her chest, and her wound had frozen over. One of her eyes had turned a bright blue. It didn’t make any sense. The Night King was dead, and so were all of his followers. She wasn’t supposed to be turning on him like this. 

Suddenly Dany’s dagger, which he’d nearly forgotten about up until now, began to heat up until it shone like burnished gold in the darkness. He grabbed for it, in spite of himself; it was hotter than fire, hot like a star, but somehow it didn’t hurt to hold. It felt like a wave of calm swept over him suddenly, like he knew what he had to do. The voice in his head sounded like his but he instinctively knew that it wasn’t. It told him to drive it through her heart, that it was the only way to purge the poison from her. 

“I can’t do that,” he said out loud, gripping onto her for dear life. “It’ll kill her.” If the stomach wound didn’t already. 

The voice was more insistent this time, telling he had no other choice, that it was the only thing he could do if he didn't want to lose her. It took on a fiercer, more agitated edge now, as the ice climbed inexorably up her body. Her grip on his hand began to slacken, her eyes going glassy. He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear streaked down his cheek, spattering on the fur of her cloak. 

She was going to die anyway. He knew that, rationally, even if he didn’t or couldn’t believe it. Perhaps that was what made it easier, as he gently slid the knife in between her rib cage. She looked at him with understanding, with something like tenderness in her good eye-and then her eyes slid shut, the breath leaving her in a last shuddering death rattle. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry, couldn’t do anything but sit there and cradle her rapidly cooling body. 

After about a minute, it stopped cooling. In fact, if anything, her body seemed to get warmer-and warmer and warmer, until it was almost scalding. He hurried to pull the knife out, watching in disbelief as her skin knit together in front of her eyes. Soon there weren’t wounds at all-just a light scar on her stomach and another over her heart. Her breathing evened out, and even the bruises around her neck seemed to lose some of their angry purple ferocity. Her grip on his hand strengthened and she sighed contentedly, as if in sleep. 

It could have been a trick of the light, a reflection in the early morning dawn, but he could have sworn he saw a woman just for a moment. She had long dark hair and eyes the same light blue as the White Walkers, but hers were filled with warmth. She wore a simple white shift that was covered in blood in exactly the same place where he had stabbed Dany. He thought he heard her say “As I was sacrificed, so may what you have sacrificed return to you” but he could have been imagining that as well. 

Then Dany’s eyes blinked open, both back to their normal color, and nothing else mattered. “Jon?” she whispered. “What happened? I was…” Her hand strayed to her stomach, brow creasing in confusion as she felt the tear in her clothing and the smooth skin beneath. 

“You’re all right now,” he whispered, shifting her so she could lean against him. “You’re safe. We’re all safe.” He allowed himself to kiss her a little tentatively, but she grabbed at the edges of his armor so she could reach him more easily, deepening the kiss, full of passion and love and just a hint of loss. 

“I don’t care about the Iron Throne,” he said, not missing the way she stiffened at hearing it. “I never wanted a crown. The only thing I wanted, from the time I was old enough to want anything, was a family that I fit into, and a place that I felt I could call home. And that’s you.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, before he could chide himself for being too emotional. They had to be said sometime. Better now that they’d just faced almost certain death and come out the other side. “You’re my home, Dany. Nearly losing you…It’s made that all so perfectly clear.” 

She buried her head in his chest, pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “And you are mine, because I can’t lose you either.” 

They traded kisses as they watched their remaining soldiers pick themselves up and dust off the battle, calling to friends that made it through the night and crying over those who didn’t. The atmosphere seemed suddenly lighter, all the tension that had come with the arrival of the Dothraki and the Unsullied fading away as everyone reveled in the simple, precious sensation of being alive. 

A new day had dawned and they were lucky enough to see it. 

As the war ground on, Jon began to wish that Cersei and her allies were as easy to beat as the White Walkers. They retreated into King’s Landing, fortifying the city with an army of scorpions so thick Dany hesitated to send the dragons to do flyovers. They pulled all their troops out of the Riverlands, intent on holding the Red Keep. And the Northern forces, scattered though they were, needed months to recover from the Battle for the Dawn. 

None of them liked being delayed. Dany and Tyrion had debated long and hard about the merits of leaving versus staying, especially given how tense the Northerners were around their foreign guests. Jon suspected that Sansa encouraged this; she’d been trying to convince him to go back on his oath since the day he arrived and she only seemed to get more upset when he refused. But as Tyrion had said, “We’d rather make a decisive attack than start fighting a thousand little wars.” They were all tired as it was. 

But Dany was relentless. Even after she’d conceded the necessity of staying in Winterfell a little longer, she still remained agitated, pacing the ramparts of the castle long after it had gotten dark, looking out at the horizon as if she expected a new horde of White Walkers to attack them. 

“What is it?” he asked her one night as he watched her restless wandering. He’d been staying with her longer now, and they rarely slept apart-he knew it made tongues wag but after they’d come so close to losing each other they were reluctant to stray too far apart. “You’ve been anxious for weeks now.”

She looked at him and he was surprised to see something close to fear in her eyes. “I don’t know how to say this.” 

A jolt of fear went through him, fast and quick like lightning. “What are you saying? What happened? Is something wrong?” A million thoughts went through his head, each worse than the last. 

She looked away and her eyes filled with tears. One trickled down her cheek, crystalline and perfect, though she laughed as she said “No, nothing’s wrong. I just...I didn’t know it was possible.” She brought a hand to cover her stomach almost protectively and he knew then, even though it didn’t make sense. It didn’t register for a moment, because even though he hadn’t really believed that she was cursed neither of them had really been thinking about making babies while they were waiting for the world to end. “I’m pregnant.” He was floored for a moment, struck absolutely speechless. “Jon? Say something, please. I’m afraid you’re angry.” 

He actually laughed. “Of course I’m not angry, Dany. I’m...this is brilliant.” He took her in his arms and tried to imagine that-a child, their child, perhaps with his mother’s eyes or Dany’s hair. “It’s more than I ever thought to hope for, to one day sire a child of my own, to pass on my family name--” 

“I know that wasn’t practiced in the Night’s Watch.” Her voice was sweet but sad, the way they both were when they talked about that time in their lives-both so far apart and abandoned by those they thought knew them best. “But we have another chance. Both of us.” She took his hand and let it rest on her stomach, as if he would be able to feel the baby kicking inside this early (for she certainly couldn’t have been pregnant before the Battle for the Dawn, and they’d had several heavy lovemaking sessions afterwards) but he could imagine the scar there, a twin to the scar he’d given her chest. “We have a chance to be better, for our little prince or princess.” 

When the thought occurred to him he had to laugh again, even though it didn’t seem funny in the slightest. “I’ve nearly fathered a bastard, just like I always thought I was. We’ll have to change that.” He cleared his throat, taking her hand in his. “I know it’s customary to exchange rings in this situation but...seeing as I don’t have one now…” 

“Yes,” she replied simply, kissing him. There was no need to discuss or debate; words were meaningless in the light of what they knew to be absolutely, certainly true. They had always been made to find and to meet, in this life or another. They simply completed each other. As if there was any question, now they had the proof-a child born of both of them, his and hers alike. Then her expression shifted, the worry that they’d both learned to shoulder creeping back to its place of dominance. “This changes everything. If Cersei knows--” 

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t get near our child-and we will win this war. We’ll make sure he or she has a throne to sit on someday.” She looked luminous and radiant in the moonlight. “We survived the Long Night.”

She laughed softly. “Cersei Lannister is a woman with nothing to lose, and that makes her far crueler than the Night King.” 

“She’s still mortal.” And at that moment he vowed that he would kill the Usurper himself if he had to, for even dreaming about harming his soon to be wife or his soon to be child.

“And thank the gods for that.” It might not have been a promise, but it felt like one-for their little prince or princess, who deserved everything that they could give them. 

They were married a fortnight later, in the godswood. The dress was one of Sansa’s; she parted with it rather grudgingly, in Dany’s opinion, but Missandei had embroidered every inch of it with dragons and wolves, together at last. It blended in with the snow that fell in their hair and tangled in their eyelashes as they promised to love each other forever and ever, as they called upon the gods to bless their union. 

“Let this war come to a speedy end,” Arya said, winking at her. For all her initial distrust, she had grown to like Dany and the Queen looked forward to their conversations. She liked how Arya was so unpredictable, how she could never tell quite what she was going to say but that she was there when it counted-like when she hugged Jon once he told her that he was getting married and couldn’t quite manage to suppress her smile when she heard they were having a baby. 

Even Sansa had said “I’ll drink to that.” 

It felt strange to have a night alone to themselves, when all thought of offensives and their forthcoming move to the Eyrie and even the new maternity gowns Missandei had commissioned for the next few months once she started to show seemed so far away. It felt strange to be with him now that they were man and wife, to leave the war at the door, and to know that she would be with him every night after this. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, carding his fingers through her hair, which she’d painstakingly unwound from its stiff braids. 

“How lucky we are to have found each other,” she whispered. “We could have been alone forever, never quite content, always searching…” She traced a finger down his chest, pulling his shirt aside-they wouldn’t be consummating the marriage tonight but she wanted to touch his scars suddenly, to see for herself the mark where her husband had almost been taken from her before she even knew he existed. “Do you believe in fate, Jon?” 

He was quiet for a moment, considering. He wasn’t like her, always passionate and occasionally impulsive; they tempered each other, filled in the gaps, and she appreciate his consideration. “Before, I wouldn’t have. But now...knowing what I know and having seen the things I’ve seen...I’d be remiss if I said I wasn’t a little bit curious.” 

“Could it have been that we were always meant to meet, from before we were old enough to know what love is?” He hesitated to answer but her mind had already jumped ahead to the next thought. “I never truly believed in any gods. I moved from place to place so often that I was expected to replace one god with another, the old system of worship for that of my host. I doubted the existence of any gods, for if they did exist why would they let such terrible things happen? But I suppose after having seen dragons, the dead walking, ice spiders bigger than men...perhaps there are things that are out of our control, things we can’t even begin to comprehend.” 

“Perhaps.” He wanted to believe that there was a purpose for things, that his father (he would never stop thinking of Ned that way, since he was the one who had raised him from infancy) was right when he believed that the old gods and their long dead ancestors would watch over them. Time had tempered his faith, but now with all that he’d experienced he was being forced to reevaluate. Perhaps they would never know for sure if fate existed, or if their lives had just been a series of coincidences disguised as a prophecy. Maybe he didn’t need to. There was one more enemy to defeat after all, and then they would have all the time in the world. 

She fell asleep before him and he let the calm and evenness of her breathing lull him to sleep. 

Gilly was the one to tell them they were having twins. She took one look at Dany and said “Have you decided on names for them yet?” 

“We’re only having one,” Dany replied, confused. “And...we’re not sure yet. Depends on if it’s a boy or girl, I suppose.” 

“Oh, you’re definitely have twins. So many women in my family had babies. I know how they look.” She nodded sharply, patted her on the shoulder in a way that Dany suspected was meant to be comforting, and then went to find Sam before Dany could really take in what had happened. One baby was astounding enough. Two was nearly unthinkable-but certainly welcome. It made her even more anxious to have the war done with, annoyed that she couldn’t fly to the capital with Drogon and finish things herself. She didn’t want her own children born in the same climate of fear and uncertainty that she and Jon had been. But Cersei was stubbornly holding onto power, attacking their troops in whatever way she could-and after a surprise ambush in the Reach, they’d realized that she was willing to play as dirty as it got. 

It also meant that she had to surrender the majority of the fighting to Jon, spending interminably long days waiting in whatever castle they had managed to appropriate for their use. It was wearying, mind numbing work; she’d grown used to being at the head of the battlefield, where she didn’t have to worry about the outcome of the battle or perseverate on whether or not Jon would come back alive. Missandei regaled her with stories of her childhood in Naath and painted a picture of a land of butterflies and a sparkling blue sea that rivaled the blue of the sky. 

When she told her that she would love to see the island someday, her lady in waiting had stiffened. “You can’t, your Grace. Outsiders are unsuited to the climate; they come down with the butterfly disease and die quickly, in immense pain.” 

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “But you’ll go home one day, won’t you?” 

Missandei hesitated. “I would like to. I’ve always wondered what happened to my family members, if any of them escaped the slavers. I would love to introduce them to Grey Worm...but I can’t risk him getting sick. I can’t imagine we’ll stay in Westeros for our entire lives though. We don’t fit here, and I think you know it.” She glanced at Dany meaningfully. 

“We’ll change it. The Northerners don’t represent all of Westeros--” 

“I can’t say I like the climate here much anyway. We’ll visit often though, or you can come see us in Essos.” Dany supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised-she’d always known more or less that the team she’d assembled so long ago would break apart after she got the throne, but with Jorah gone and Daario on the edge of the world and now even Missandei and Grey Worm looking towards their own futures, it was hard to deny that their paths were diverging more and more by the day. 

“There will always be a room for you at the Red Keep.” And she really meant it. 

Missandei smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate that.” 

“Call me Dany. Please.” 

She hesitated, like it went against everything she’d ever been taught-and then she laughed a little bit and said. “All right. Dany.” 

It sounded right, like another puzzle piece clicking into place. 

Two weeks before their planned offensive on King’s Landing, the babies came. 

Jon tried not to be nervous-Sam had been trained at the Citadel and Gilly was well equipped to act as a midwife-but he couldn’t help thinking that both his and Dany’s mothers had died in childbirth. Scores of women did, now that he thought about it. 

Dany wasn’t nervous. She did see going into labor as an inconvenience, as the extra planning would probably push the battle back a few days. But everything went surprisingly well, all things considered; as the sun rose he got to hold their two daughters-Rhaella, with her father’s dark hair and eyes that were so dark they looked almost indigo; and Lyanna, with her mother’s light hair and a pair of bright green eyes. He could see the mixture of him and her in each of their little faces, a perfect patchwork of the most important people in his life. There was the Stark jawline, the Targaryen nose. They were perfect, the two most wonderful things he’d ever seen. 

“She likes you,” Dany observed, as Rhaella grabbed at his curls. She had a surprisingly strong grip for one so young, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been fazed-they were, after all, their parents’ daughters, born at the end of one of the greatest conflicts in history. 

He still couldn’t quite get over this seemingly small fact-that he was here, next to the woman he loved, with two daughters to his name. Two daughters, to raise the way Ned had raised him, to teach and protect and watch over as they grew and hopefully someday started families of their own. Three years ago he would never have thought it possible. 

But three years ago he’d never seen a dragon before-certainly never ridden one. 

Lyanna started to fuss and Dany started to sing to her, shifting her so she rested more comfortably in her arms. Her voice was clear and sweet as a bell, and just hearing it Jon was transported back to being a small child, listening outside Robb’s room as Catelyn Stark sang her own lullabies to her own children. He must have looked at her strangely because she said “Viserys would sing to me, on the nights he was kind. He said our mother used to sing like that. I never knew her. Sometimes I felt like those songs were the only connection I had to her.” 

“I know what that’s like. I never knew my mother either.” Or apparently, his father. 

Dany’s expression grew even more serious. “That’s why we have to make sure that our children grow up knowing their parents. That’s why we can’t die in the battle to come.” He opened his mouth to try and persuade her one last time not to come, but her expression warned him away. 

“Of course,” he replied, looking down into Rhaella’s deep eyes. Even though he’d known, from the first moment he saw the twins, that he would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it would save them. But he’d had enough of sacrifices for a lifetime. 

Now, he just wanted to live because he had every intention of growing up and seeing the kinds of women his daughters became. 

Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls of the Red Keep. The Unsullied had come before, to dispose of any soldiers or other stragglers who might have tried to hole up inside, and now it was time to take stock of what they would have to do to restore the palace to its former glory. 

A lot, as it turned out. Nearly every table and piece of furniture was broken. Books had been thrown into fireplaces and trampled underfoot. The linens were soaked with blood. Dead animals had filled the kitchen. The wine cellar had more wine on the floor than in the bottles that lined the walls. The water in the central well had been contaminated by a handful of dead mice, though Tyrion assured them it would be cleaned up within a few days and most of the city wouldn’t be affected. All parting gifts from Cersei-along with the golden haired baby girl they’d found hidden away in her bedroom, the only room in the palace that hadn’t been utterly destroyed. 

They emerged onto a balcony overlooking the sea. Knots of people had gathered along the beach, whispering amongst one another nervously, eyeing the castle like they weren’t sure what to think about their new leaders. There was no lost love for Cersei, but it was obvious no one trusted the newcomers. “Dragonstone wasn’t this bad,” Dany muttered. “And it had been abandoned for years.” 

“She was trying to send a message. If she can’t have the throne, no one can.” 

“That’s why she tried to blow up half the city, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Tyrion likes to talk about how dysfunctional his family is, but I don’t think I quite believed him until now.” 

“But we’ll fix it because we’re the ones here now, not her. We’re the victors, and we’re the ones who will rewrite the history books. We have time on our side.” For once, at least. 

They slept on the floor in a cramped tower room with some furs that they’d managed to dig out from the bottoms of their trunk and the ever more raucous soldiers’ drinking parties kept them awake until the early morning hours, but when Dany finally managed to fall asleep in his arms she slept more soundly than she had in months, maybe even years. For the first time, she was safe. Doubtless they would always have their enemies, but for now-probably for a long time-they had been pushed back. They could stop scheming for a minute, stop destroying and start rebuilding. They would create a new small council, institute reforms that would help their subjects do more than just survive. Every time she looked at Jon, she saw all the possibilities they had. She saw the possibility that maybe they’d die of old age, beloved after a successful reign. 

But rebuilding could wait until the morning. For now, she and Jon could appreciate how lovely it felt to not be frightened. They could contemplate a life all theirs. It wasn’t what anyone had planned for them, but that didn’t matter. It would be wonderful all the same, because finally they could choose happiness and love. 

Finally, it was their choice to make.


End file.
